Title: The Spider and the Fly
Author: Nan
Rating: PG
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.
Spoilers: Tangled Web
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web
She hadn't slept in over 36 hours. She had eaten nothing but a few scraps of bread. This, combined with the events of the last couple of days triggered a sense of detachment, like she was watching some sort of extreme adventure movie. She was intensely aware of every bit of sensory information. The air was thick and musty with an odor of rotting vegetation. The forest was eerily quiet, like it was waiting. Waiting for what? Just seconds earlier the sound of contorting metal and broken branches split through the normally noisy biosphere of birdcalls, insects and small animals.
The sense of detachment continued and Mac's mind started to wander. Like she had reached a tedious break in the action and the movie was failing to maintain her attention. She tried to think. What was she doing in this jungle? All she could remember was that room at Saddiq's compound. It was the room with the white-capped man and his car battery, cables and steel wool. Screaming filled her mind. As she looked down, she saw Clay spread-eagled on a crude wooden table. His face was bloodied and his clothes torn.
Suddenly she was standing outside in the middle of the dusty compound. Mrs. Robinson was screaming at her. "Americans! This is your entire fault. They learned hatred from you!"
Mac tried to explain. The hatred was always there. Don't you see? Poverty, oppression, discrimination - they all breed hatred. We have been caught in a conflict that is centuries old. But she couldn't speak. She tried to open her mouth but all that came out was a scream. She watched as Saddiq put a gun to the base of the missionary's skull and pulled the trigger.
The screaming continued. As she looked down, there was Clay lying at her feet. His bloodied lips were moving in an attempt to speak. He was imploring her with his eyes. What was he trying to tell her? She couldn't think about that now. All she wanted to do was to get out of here. Get out of this green hell.
Think. Think. From her first encounter with Clayton Webb, she had always felt uneasy. He was part of 'The Company' and he carried an air of mystery. Even his appearance was like a character out of a James Bond movie. He acted covertly with hidden agendas. True intentions and agendas were always hidden or obscured. Any situation with Clay spun out of control. She felt uncertain and stupid, like she didn't know what was going to happen next. One thing that Mac hated was the feeling of no control.
Paraguay was no different. At the restaurant, when Clay had said he was scared, she felt a chill run up her spine. Clay's ops never were smooth but he never, ever, admitted to a lack of control. Control was his world. He knew everything. Knowledge was power to him. But this time was different. All hell had broken loose.
In the short span of this operation in Paraguay, Mac had been overwhelmed by brutality. By her own hands, she had killed men. Not a man but several. Gunny had been shot. She had watched helplessly as Saddiq had executed the missionaries. She had heard Clay cries of pain as they applied their twisted form of torture. Clay was a strong man. She knew what it would take to break him. And broken he was.
She smiled grimly. Despite the physical torture, Clay only deviated once from his cover story. And that one time was when he slipped and called her Sarah. Her cover was Jane. Clay's loyalty and bravery for his country was as strong as anyone at JAG.
JAG! JAG seemed so far away and so long ago. Would she ever get back there? While she could admire Clay's loyalty to her and his mission, she hated him for this situation she was in. He all but professed to love her. She felt outrage. You demonstrate your love for a person by putting them in this hellhole? No, her original assessment of Clay was correct. He would always make her feel uneasy and out of control. Clay was right; he needed her. Clay needed her to protect him. But she didn't need him.
The screaming continued. She tried to close her ears to the piercing sound. Where was it coming from? All of a sudden, she was back in the small hut with the white-capped man. Instead of Clay strapped to the table, she saw herself lying there. The glowing ends of the metal rods and twisted wire glittered menacingly as they moved toward her. She was mesmerized by the hatred in his eyes.
The white-capped man looked away suddenly. What was going on? She realized belatedly that there were gunshots in the compound. Rescue maybe? No, she thought dejectedly. Gunny was dead. Clay was incapacitated. No one from JAG knew where she was.
"Mac? Mac, wake up." It was Harm. Harm! What was he doing in Paraguay? Suddenly, she felt better. She felt safe. She knew everything would be okay. Harm would know what to do. He always did. Somehow, he always managed to help her and to keep her out of danger. She smiled. He always watched for her six. There was only one example when Harm worried her. It was when he was flying. The rest of the time, he was a rock.
Flying! The biplane. Dynamiting the stinger missiles in the transport truck. The rescue in the compound. It all came flooding back. They had taken small arms fire and the biplane was speeding towards to the thick forest, out of control. The grinding of metal and the breaking branches.
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the jungle floor a couple of yards away from the mangled wreckage of the plane. She watched as brightly colored Macaws and parrots flew by. A blue colored large bird screamed as it lit on a branch. That was the screaming she had heard.
Harm was crouched next to her watching her face intently. He smiled with relief as she turned to look at him. His face and arms were a mass of small cuts and bruises where branches had whipped by on their descent. His shirt was torn. But he was the best looking thing she had seen in days.
"You okay?" he inquired gently.
She struggled to sit up. So far, so good. She was as bruised and cut as he was but she didn't feel any broken bones. Her head was starting to clear.
"I think so. You?" She looked at him.
"I think so. I better be. I don't think we can call a medi-vac helicopter to get us out of this one."
He looked at her again, studying her carefully. As she stood up, he looked down. She realized that her pregnancy suit was ripped with long gashes that exposed the inner stuffing.
He looked back into her face and smiled again. "Worked like an air-bag. Told you that it might come in handy."
"Maybe so," she said. "But I'm taking this off now." The whole deception is ending. "Turn around." With that, she walked gingerly towards a tree and started to strip down. The pregnancy suit carried several reminders of the last few days. She could see the gash where Saddiq sliced her with the knife. Clay's blood soaked through her blouse and seeped through to the foam rubber. She was consumed with an overwhelming desire to rid herself of awkward thing. She pulled at the inner elastic on her pregnancy jeans in an effort to tighten them.
When she turned around, Harm was rummaging around the ruined wreckage of the biplane. He climbed down, his hands full.
"Did I ever tell you, that I love the Germans? They are so organized and methodical," he said and opened his arms to show her what he had found. "This is an emergency kit with flares, matches, knife, wire, and a small first aid kit. Also, I found a canteen of water and a box lunch. He must have been preparing to go somewhere. Mennonites are great cooks. Are you hungry?"
"Food that really schmecks," she said and tears came to her eyes. Harm's breezy optimism was a tonic.
"Schmecks?" He was studying her carefully.
"Yeah, a Mennonite cookbook Mom once had. It was called 'Food that really Schmecks'. Sour-cream salads, hingle potpie, shmierkase, schnitz, pickled baby corn. I loved to look at the pictures. All high calorie and guaranteed to increase your cholesterol by 50 points. I love it. But what are you going to eat?" she bantered slowly.
Harm smiled at the quip. He knew she was on the edge. Maybe she was starting to collect herself. She had been through a lot. Hell, he had gone through a lot and he had only been here for a day. He could only imagine the misery the terrorists had put her and Clay through. He looked around. It was an hour or two till nightfall. And she looked exhausted.
"Mac, you know Saddiq and his men better than I do. Do you think they will attempt to come after us?"
Mac's eyes dimmed. She heaved a sigh and forced herself to dwell on the immediate threat.
"Well, the jungle seems pretty thick and remote here. It would mean they would have to travel on foot or perhaps use a plane. I never saw a plane at any of the compounds. There are right-of-ways cut under the power lines that you may be able to use an off road vehicle. But I still think that traveling would be pretty slow. The terrain is hilly and rugged. And it will be dark soon."
"That's what I am thinking too. I'm going to build a small fire. Let's rest for the night. I've been through hell today, " Harm said.
Mac bristled at his words. He had been through hell? "Suck it up, Navy," she said. Then she smiled as she realized what he was doing. She rolled her eyes at him.
Harm continued to chatter as he gathered wood and built a small fire. "You know it's almost winter in Paraguay. In some parts of the country, temperatures drop below zero in the month of July. I think it might be a bit chilly tonight."
"We are in the jungle, Harm," she said.
"Yeah, tropical bordering on temperate climate."
"Let me guess, you spent the plane trip reading "The Lonely Planet."
"Did you know hydroelectric power is a major export?" he said.
"When are you to check in again with the Admiral?" she asked.
"I have no official schedule to check in with him," Harm said and he bent over to blow gently on the small fire.
"Whom are you supposed to check in with?" she asked puzzled.
"Technically, I'm only here as a tourist."
"No one knows you are here?" She was puzzled.
"I wouldn't say that. The admiral knows where I am. It's just that I quit the Navy and he has no jurisdiction or responsibility over my actions."
She looked at him gapped mouthed. "Say that again?"
"I quit the Navy. I resigned my commission. This clandestine CIA op of Clay's meant that the admiral had no authority. He ordered me not to come. And maybe the Marine credo is to never leave a man behind but that's not how the CIA thinks. Everything they do is covert and based on deniability. The admiral thought there would be a ransom request or a claim of responsibility. After meeting the CIA Chief of Station here, I can understand why he was lead to think that. He denied my request for emergency leave. Trying to protect me, I guess. He gave me no other option than to quit. So I did."
"Oh, Harm, I never wanted you to quit the Navy." and her eyes filled with tears. She was so close to the edge and so tired. This was news she didn't want to hear.
He walked over and sat down beside her. "You have been held captive by terrorists for a couple of days, tortured and we crashed in a biplane. And you are worried about me quitting the Navy? Mac, after seeing you strapped to that table, all I could think of was what took me so long."
"I'm sorry, Harm," said Mac.
Nothing he did would comfort her. The tears had already started. She put her face in her hands and cried for Harm. She cried for Clay. She cried for Gunny. She cried for the missionaries. She cried for the families of the men she had killed. She cried for the futility of the entire mission. Harm put his arms around her and she was crying against his torn shirt. She wept until she was spent. She clung to Harm as a lifeline.
She must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, what little she could see of the sky through the trees was dark and studded with dim stars. Her head was pillowed against Harm's thigh. He was leaning against a fallen log and staring into a small flickering fire. She groaned as she tried to sit up. Every muscle in her body ached.
"Okay?" he inquired.
"Yeah," she said as she looked around. Her eyes settled back on Harm's face. "I'm sorry I am such a mess."
"S'okay. Stress needs to relieve itself somehow."
She moved to sit next to him. "That sounds familiar. You told me that the last time we were stuck in the woods with deranged people after us."
"Yeah, remember that? This feels a lot like that time," he said. "By the way, you were shot in the leg not stabbed."
"Whaaat?"
"Well, when we getting into the biplane, you told me the last time you did this you were stabbed in the leg. You were shot in the leg with buckshot from the poacher's shotgun, remember?"
"How could I forget? Did I say I was stabbed? Must have been distracted at the time. I was thinking about the poacher trying to stab me with his knife and getting shot at the same time. I guess it was two sentences that got jammed into one."
"When I left you for while, you were hidden but the brother of what's-his-name snuck up on you and tried to uhhh, attack you. You stabbed him, not the other way around." Harm grimaced.
"It was one of the scariest experiences in my life. Up till now," she said.
"You hungry?" said Harm. He went over to the knapsack with the bag lunch.
"Starving," she said.
He handed her the canteen of water. "Drink something. There is also a thermos of tea in the lunch sac."
He handed her a sandwich of thickly sliced homemade bread, sauerkraut and slice meat. She bit into it hungrily. "I feel kind of guilty enjoying this poor man's lunch after we crashed his plane."
"Eat now, feel guilty later. I bet you haven't eaten for a couple of days." asked Harm.
"We had a few bites of stale bread at the compound." She looked over to the wrecked biplane. "I can't believe we survived that crash."
Harm grunted wordlessly. He stretched out his long legs in front of him and leaned against the fallen tree stump. "Sorry about all of this. I know it always seems to happen that way."
"Why is that? What has it been - five, no six crashes? Three with me. That I know for sure."
"Only two with you. The Mig in Russia and this one now. The one with the poachers doesn't qualify as a crash. I mean we managed to take off again in the same plane. It was just an emergency landing due to a faulty gas line." Harm defended himself.
"Subtle differences. My heart was racing nevertheless." She stretched out beside him, leaning against the same fallen log.
"You know, despite everything, we managed to accomplish something. I think those stingers were destroyed in that explosion," said Harm.
"You did good, flyboy." Mac smiled at him.
"Yeah, now the only thing left to do is figure out how to get the hell out of Paraguay."
"What about Gunny and Webb?" The thought of running the gauntlet again inside this violent country made her sick.
"We won't leave them behind, Marine," he said. "I hope they made it to a hospital. And I hope that Gunny was smart enough not to go to that CIA chief of station guy."
"You think he is the leak?" Mac turned to look at him.
"Even if he isn't, he is one of the most self-serving, lily-livered bastards I have ever met. Even the CIA isn't that cold-hearted. Gunny will get further without him. And Clay needs real help." Harm was grim.
"You know, none of this would have ever happened if Clay hadn't been sent here after the Angel Shark investigation," said Mac.
"Are you trying to tell me that this is all my fault? Cause I talked Clay into revealing what happened to the Angel Shark?" Harm was incredulous.
"Well, think about it. Clay would still be in Washington. Paraguay would just be another country on a map."
"I am not going there. I am not, in no way, responsible for this fiasco," said Harm.
Mac smiled. "Damn. I must be losing my touch. Getting Harmon Rabb to feel guilty used to be so easy."
"Speaking of guilt Mac, I have one for you. I had to get married last week just for you."
"Now that sounds bizarre. I don't believe there is a woman on this planet that could get you to say 'I do.' And if you married another woman just for me, I'm really feeling flattered. I mean quitting the Navy is one thing. But this really shows real dedication, " Mac rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion.
"Believe it. Ask Bud. He presided over the marriage ceremony." Harm was smiling broadly. Mac smiled back. Her heart lifted. Despite his grimy exterior and their current situation, all seemed right with the world when he smiled.
"And under what authority did Bud perform this ceremony? The Holy Church of JAG Lawyers? Who did you marry anyway?" Mac was curious.
"Catherine Gayle."
"The CIA lady lawyer? What? She looks like a career single to me. This story is getting more unbelievable by the moment," said Mac. She grabbed a stick and poked at the fire.
"You know that little annoying sentence that the CIA uses? The one that goes 'Need to know basis only' or 'you don't have security clearance to know that'. Well, I hit that wall more than once trying to discover your whereabouts. Anyways, I went to Catherine in a vain attempt to talk to her about you. Then she gets an emergency call about her dying mother. Next thing you know I'm at the hospital with her. Her mom assumes I'm her fiancé. This fiancé is someone Catherine fabricated to please her sick mother. Well, next thing you know, it is her dying mother's wish to see her daughter married. To me. That's how it all started." Harm leaned back and stared up at the stars.
"And you felt sorry for the dying mother so you agreed to a made-up wedding. Bud played preacher. Catherine is indebted to you. Then you knew where to find us." Mac filled in the rest of the details.
"Yeah that's essentially it. For all of that, I didn't get many details. They helped to get me in touch with the CIA down here. Which was basically useless. But there was one stroke of good luck. Gunny was watching the CIA office and he contacted me. We went from there."
"Gunny ! You can't imagine how I felt when I saw Gunny today. When I thought he had been killed, I felt like everything had been in vain. That I was responsible for Clay and all that he went through. I had been the one who went back to get Gunny. Clay just followed." Mac's shoulder's drooped. Harm watched as she aimlessly threw bits of leaves into the fire.
Harm thought about his next question. He knew that its answer would drag her through memories best forgotten. But he had to know. He had to know what happened to Clay and Mac. Most important of all - what happened between Clay and Mac. Harm closed his eyes briefly and thought about the kiss he had witnessed earlier. The last time he had felt this sense of panic, Mic Brumby was engaged to Mac. But this was worse. Harm had always seen Mic as the hapless Australian who was never quite good enough for Mac. But Harm counted Clay as a close friend. He knew the man was smart and capable. And dangerous. Mac around this man and his perilous profession would only drive him crazy. From the moment he had witnessed that kiss, he knew that his relationship with Clayton Webb had changed. Webb was now a rival. Had his relationship with Mac changed too?
Who I am kidding? Even Admiral Chegwidden knew it. Why are you risking your life to save Mac when you won't risk your heart to be with her? There was no relationship with Mac outside of friendship. Harm was too timid to cross the boundary between friendship and love.
He started. "Mac, I shouldn't ask you this but what happened in the compound? What did they do to Clay? I saw the two missionaries executed. You were being escorted to that hut.... Why were they taking you there?"
Mac hunched forward and hugged her knees. She stared at the flickering flames. She swallowed hard. "Clay had been posing as an arms dealer with a pregnant wife. I think he made up the pregnant part of the story in an effort to protect me. He rationalized that their traditional values would mean that they wouldn't hurt a pregnant woman. But Carla Robinson, the missionary's wife had figured out that I was a fake. She was desperate to please Saddiq. She knew that their church would be unable to pay the ransom. Saddiq was brutal and they knew he would kill them. She used the information about my false pregnancy in an effort to please him. It didn't work, of course. You saw that in the compound."
"What Saddiq couldn't figure out was who Clay and I really were. He saw us as Israelis. He couldn't see why we tried to rescue Gunny. That made no sense to him. And truly, it was hard to explain away. You saw that torture chamber? Well, Clay spent the better part of a day having the electrodes attached to that battery applied to him. They broke him, Harm. I could hear his screams across the compound. He took punishment intended for me. But he never wavered from his story about being an independent arms dealer. They were going to do the same to me, in an effort to get Clay to talk."
"I am okay right now because Clay delayed them from getting to me and because you and Gunny rescued us." Mac's eyes were closed. She could still seeing the glowing electrodes.
Harm to himself silently went on. And if I ever have regrets about my decision to quit the Navy, I will remember how you looked strapped to that table and I will know I did the right thing. No matter what happens between you and Clay. He felt his chest tighten.
Mac whispered. "I wonder if Clay is still alive."
"Yeah, me too," said Harm. He stood up and looked around. Mac needed sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough. How possibly could he make her more comfortable? He spied the discarded pregnancy suit. At least she could have a pillow.
"Here," he said. "Something for your head. We should both get some sleep." He stoked the fire with a few pieces of deadfall.
Mac curled up with the pregnancy suit. She watched as Harm cleaned up the remnants of their bag lunch. He lay down on the ground a few feet away from her, his expression unreadable.
But Mac was still pretty perceptive, despite her exhaustion. After all, he had been her partner, on and off for almost seven years. She didn't need to read his expression to know what he was thinking.
"Harm?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"You want me to call room service and ask them to bring up a room divider?"
Harm turned to look at her. She was smiling.
Mac continued, "We could share body heat. It is almost winter you know. Some parts of this country go below freezing in July. Somebody said that it's better than sleeping with the scorpions."
Harm stared for moment. "There are no scorpions in Paraguay. Anacondas and Boa Constrictors, maybe. But no scorpions."
Before she could answer, he crept over to her. He laid his head on the edge of the tattered pregnancy suit and turned his face to look into hers. He swung his long leg over hers as he wrapped his arms around her. He sighed contently as he closed his eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked, praying silently.
"I'm sure," she said. And she snuggled up against his broad chest.
Author: Nan
Rating: PG
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.
Spoilers: Tangled Web
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web
She hadn't slept in over 36 hours. She had eaten nothing but a few scraps of bread. This, combined with the events of the last couple of days triggered a sense of detachment, like she was watching some sort of extreme adventure movie. She was intensely aware of every bit of sensory information. The air was thick and musty with an odor of rotting vegetation. The forest was eerily quiet, like it was waiting. Waiting for what? Just seconds earlier the sound of contorting metal and broken branches split through the normally noisy biosphere of birdcalls, insects and small animals.
The sense of detachment continued and Mac's mind started to wander. Like she had reached a tedious break in the action and the movie was failing to maintain her attention. She tried to think. What was she doing in this jungle? All she could remember was that room at Saddiq's compound. It was the room with the white-capped man and his car battery, cables and steel wool. Screaming filled her mind. As she looked down, she saw Clay spread-eagled on a crude wooden table. His face was bloodied and his clothes torn.
Suddenly she was standing outside in the middle of the dusty compound. Mrs. Robinson was screaming at her. "Americans! This is your entire fault. They learned hatred from you!"
Mac tried to explain. The hatred was always there. Don't you see? Poverty, oppression, discrimination - they all breed hatred. We have been caught in a conflict that is centuries old. But she couldn't speak. She tried to open her mouth but all that came out was a scream. She watched as Saddiq put a gun to the base of the missionary's skull and pulled the trigger.
The screaming continued. As she looked down, there was Clay lying at her feet. His bloodied lips were moving in an attempt to speak. He was imploring her with his eyes. What was he trying to tell her? She couldn't think about that now. All she wanted to do was to get out of here. Get out of this green hell.
Think. Think. From her first encounter with Clayton Webb, she had always felt uneasy. He was part of 'The Company' and he carried an air of mystery. Even his appearance was like a character out of a James Bond movie. He acted covertly with hidden agendas. True intentions and agendas were always hidden or obscured. Any situation with Clay spun out of control. She felt uncertain and stupid, like she didn't know what was going to happen next. One thing that Mac hated was the feeling of no control.
Paraguay was no different. At the restaurant, when Clay had said he was scared, she felt a chill run up her spine. Clay's ops never were smooth but he never, ever, admitted to a lack of control. Control was his world. He knew everything. Knowledge was power to him. But this time was different. All hell had broken loose.
In the short span of this operation in Paraguay, Mac had been overwhelmed by brutality. By her own hands, she had killed men. Not a man but several. Gunny had been shot. She had watched helplessly as Saddiq had executed the missionaries. She had heard Clay cries of pain as they applied their twisted form of torture. Clay was a strong man. She knew what it would take to break him. And broken he was.
She smiled grimly. Despite the physical torture, Clay only deviated once from his cover story. And that one time was when he slipped and called her Sarah. Her cover was Jane. Clay's loyalty and bravery for his country was as strong as anyone at JAG.
JAG! JAG seemed so far away and so long ago. Would she ever get back there? While she could admire Clay's loyalty to her and his mission, she hated him for this situation she was in. He all but professed to love her. She felt outrage. You demonstrate your love for a person by putting them in this hellhole? No, her original assessment of Clay was correct. He would always make her feel uneasy and out of control. Clay was right; he needed her. Clay needed her to protect him. But she didn't need him.
The screaming continued. She tried to close her ears to the piercing sound. Where was it coming from? All of a sudden, she was back in the small hut with the white-capped man. Instead of Clay strapped to the table, she saw herself lying there. The glowing ends of the metal rods and twisted wire glittered menacingly as they moved toward her. She was mesmerized by the hatred in his eyes.
The white-capped man looked away suddenly. What was going on? She realized belatedly that there were gunshots in the compound. Rescue maybe? No, she thought dejectedly. Gunny was dead. Clay was incapacitated. No one from JAG knew where she was.
"Mac? Mac, wake up." It was Harm. Harm! What was he doing in Paraguay? Suddenly, she felt better. She felt safe. She knew everything would be okay. Harm would know what to do. He always did. Somehow, he always managed to help her and to keep her out of danger. She smiled. He always watched for her six. There was only one example when Harm worried her. It was when he was flying. The rest of the time, he was a rock.
Flying! The biplane. Dynamiting the stinger missiles in the transport truck. The rescue in the compound. It all came flooding back. They had taken small arms fire and the biplane was speeding towards to the thick forest, out of control. The grinding of metal and the breaking branches.
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the jungle floor a couple of yards away from the mangled wreckage of the plane. She watched as brightly colored Macaws and parrots flew by. A blue colored large bird screamed as it lit on a branch. That was the screaming she had heard.
Harm was crouched next to her watching her face intently. He smiled with relief as she turned to look at him. His face and arms were a mass of small cuts and bruises where branches had whipped by on their descent. His shirt was torn. But he was the best looking thing she had seen in days.
"You okay?" he inquired gently.
She struggled to sit up. So far, so good. She was as bruised and cut as he was but she didn't feel any broken bones. Her head was starting to clear.
"I think so. You?" She looked at him.
"I think so. I better be. I don't think we can call a medi-vac helicopter to get us out of this one."
He looked at her again, studying her carefully. As she stood up, he looked down. She realized that her pregnancy suit was ripped with long gashes that exposed the inner stuffing.
He looked back into her face and smiled again. "Worked like an air-bag. Told you that it might come in handy."
"Maybe so," she said. "But I'm taking this off now." The whole deception is ending. "Turn around." With that, she walked gingerly towards a tree and started to strip down. The pregnancy suit carried several reminders of the last few days. She could see the gash where Saddiq sliced her with the knife. Clay's blood soaked through her blouse and seeped through to the foam rubber. She was consumed with an overwhelming desire to rid herself of awkward thing. She pulled at the inner elastic on her pregnancy jeans in an effort to tighten them.
When she turned around, Harm was rummaging around the ruined wreckage of the biplane. He climbed down, his hands full.
"Did I ever tell you, that I love the Germans? They are so organized and methodical," he said and opened his arms to show her what he had found. "This is an emergency kit with flares, matches, knife, wire, and a small first aid kit. Also, I found a canteen of water and a box lunch. He must have been preparing to go somewhere. Mennonites are great cooks. Are you hungry?"
"Food that really schmecks," she said and tears came to her eyes. Harm's breezy optimism was a tonic.
"Schmecks?" He was studying her carefully.
"Yeah, a Mennonite cookbook Mom once had. It was called 'Food that really Schmecks'. Sour-cream salads, hingle potpie, shmierkase, schnitz, pickled baby corn. I loved to look at the pictures. All high calorie and guaranteed to increase your cholesterol by 50 points. I love it. But what are you going to eat?" she bantered slowly.
Harm smiled at the quip. He knew she was on the edge. Maybe she was starting to collect herself. She had been through a lot. Hell, he had gone through a lot and he had only been here for a day. He could only imagine the misery the terrorists had put her and Clay through. He looked around. It was an hour or two till nightfall. And she looked exhausted.
"Mac, you know Saddiq and his men better than I do. Do you think they will attempt to come after us?"
Mac's eyes dimmed. She heaved a sigh and forced herself to dwell on the immediate threat.
"Well, the jungle seems pretty thick and remote here. It would mean they would have to travel on foot or perhaps use a plane. I never saw a plane at any of the compounds. There are right-of-ways cut under the power lines that you may be able to use an off road vehicle. But I still think that traveling would be pretty slow. The terrain is hilly and rugged. And it will be dark soon."
"That's what I am thinking too. I'm going to build a small fire. Let's rest for the night. I've been through hell today, " Harm said.
Mac bristled at his words. He had been through hell? "Suck it up, Navy," she said. Then she smiled as she realized what he was doing. She rolled her eyes at him.
Harm continued to chatter as he gathered wood and built a small fire. "You know it's almost winter in Paraguay. In some parts of the country, temperatures drop below zero in the month of July. I think it might be a bit chilly tonight."
"We are in the jungle, Harm," she said.
"Yeah, tropical bordering on temperate climate."
"Let me guess, you spent the plane trip reading "The Lonely Planet."
"Did you know hydroelectric power is a major export?" he said.
"When are you to check in again with the Admiral?" she asked.
"I have no official schedule to check in with him," Harm said and he bent over to blow gently on the small fire.
"Whom are you supposed to check in with?" she asked puzzled.
"Technically, I'm only here as a tourist."
"No one knows you are here?" She was puzzled.
"I wouldn't say that. The admiral knows where I am. It's just that I quit the Navy and he has no jurisdiction or responsibility over my actions."
She looked at him gapped mouthed. "Say that again?"
"I quit the Navy. I resigned my commission. This clandestine CIA op of Clay's meant that the admiral had no authority. He ordered me not to come. And maybe the Marine credo is to never leave a man behind but that's not how the CIA thinks. Everything they do is covert and based on deniability. The admiral thought there would be a ransom request or a claim of responsibility. After meeting the CIA Chief of Station here, I can understand why he was lead to think that. He denied my request for emergency leave. Trying to protect me, I guess. He gave me no other option than to quit. So I did."
"Oh, Harm, I never wanted you to quit the Navy." and her eyes filled with tears. She was so close to the edge and so tired. This was news she didn't want to hear.
He walked over and sat down beside her. "You have been held captive by terrorists for a couple of days, tortured and we crashed in a biplane. And you are worried about me quitting the Navy? Mac, after seeing you strapped to that table, all I could think of was what took me so long."
"I'm sorry, Harm," said Mac.
Nothing he did would comfort her. The tears had already started. She put her face in her hands and cried for Harm. She cried for Clay. She cried for Gunny. She cried for the missionaries. She cried for the families of the men she had killed. She cried for the futility of the entire mission. Harm put his arms around her and she was crying against his torn shirt. She wept until she was spent. She clung to Harm as a lifeline.
She must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, what little she could see of the sky through the trees was dark and studded with dim stars. Her head was pillowed against Harm's thigh. He was leaning against a fallen log and staring into a small flickering fire. She groaned as she tried to sit up. Every muscle in her body ached.
"Okay?" he inquired.
"Yeah," she said as she looked around. Her eyes settled back on Harm's face. "I'm sorry I am such a mess."
"S'okay. Stress needs to relieve itself somehow."
She moved to sit next to him. "That sounds familiar. You told me that the last time we were stuck in the woods with deranged people after us."
"Yeah, remember that? This feels a lot like that time," he said. "By the way, you were shot in the leg not stabbed."
"Whaaat?"
"Well, when we getting into the biplane, you told me the last time you did this you were stabbed in the leg. You were shot in the leg with buckshot from the poacher's shotgun, remember?"
"How could I forget? Did I say I was stabbed? Must have been distracted at the time. I was thinking about the poacher trying to stab me with his knife and getting shot at the same time. I guess it was two sentences that got jammed into one."
"When I left you for while, you were hidden but the brother of what's-his-name snuck up on you and tried to uhhh, attack you. You stabbed him, not the other way around." Harm grimaced.
"It was one of the scariest experiences in my life. Up till now," she said.
"You hungry?" said Harm. He went over to the knapsack with the bag lunch.
"Starving," she said.
He handed her the canteen of water. "Drink something. There is also a thermos of tea in the lunch sac."
He handed her a sandwich of thickly sliced homemade bread, sauerkraut and slice meat. She bit into it hungrily. "I feel kind of guilty enjoying this poor man's lunch after we crashed his plane."
"Eat now, feel guilty later. I bet you haven't eaten for a couple of days." asked Harm.
"We had a few bites of stale bread at the compound." She looked over to the wrecked biplane. "I can't believe we survived that crash."
Harm grunted wordlessly. He stretched out his long legs in front of him and leaned against the fallen tree stump. "Sorry about all of this. I know it always seems to happen that way."
"Why is that? What has it been - five, no six crashes? Three with me. That I know for sure."
"Only two with you. The Mig in Russia and this one now. The one with the poachers doesn't qualify as a crash. I mean we managed to take off again in the same plane. It was just an emergency landing due to a faulty gas line." Harm defended himself.
"Subtle differences. My heart was racing nevertheless." She stretched out beside him, leaning against the same fallen log.
"You know, despite everything, we managed to accomplish something. I think those stingers were destroyed in that explosion," said Harm.
"You did good, flyboy." Mac smiled at him.
"Yeah, now the only thing left to do is figure out how to get the hell out of Paraguay."
"What about Gunny and Webb?" The thought of running the gauntlet again inside this violent country made her sick.
"We won't leave them behind, Marine," he said. "I hope they made it to a hospital. And I hope that Gunny was smart enough not to go to that CIA chief of station guy."
"You think he is the leak?" Mac turned to look at him.
"Even if he isn't, he is one of the most self-serving, lily-livered bastards I have ever met. Even the CIA isn't that cold-hearted. Gunny will get further without him. And Clay needs real help." Harm was grim.
"You know, none of this would have ever happened if Clay hadn't been sent here after the Angel Shark investigation," said Mac.
"Are you trying to tell me that this is all my fault? Cause I talked Clay into revealing what happened to the Angel Shark?" Harm was incredulous.
"Well, think about it. Clay would still be in Washington. Paraguay would just be another country on a map."
"I am not going there. I am not, in no way, responsible for this fiasco," said Harm.
Mac smiled. "Damn. I must be losing my touch. Getting Harmon Rabb to feel guilty used to be so easy."
"Speaking of guilt Mac, I have one for you. I had to get married last week just for you."
"Now that sounds bizarre. I don't believe there is a woman on this planet that could get you to say 'I do.' And if you married another woman just for me, I'm really feeling flattered. I mean quitting the Navy is one thing. But this really shows real dedication, " Mac rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion.
"Believe it. Ask Bud. He presided over the marriage ceremony." Harm was smiling broadly. Mac smiled back. Her heart lifted. Despite his grimy exterior and their current situation, all seemed right with the world when he smiled.
"And under what authority did Bud perform this ceremony? The Holy Church of JAG Lawyers? Who did you marry anyway?" Mac was curious.
"Catherine Gayle."
"The CIA lady lawyer? What? She looks like a career single to me. This story is getting more unbelievable by the moment," said Mac. She grabbed a stick and poked at the fire.
"You know that little annoying sentence that the CIA uses? The one that goes 'Need to know basis only' or 'you don't have security clearance to know that'. Well, I hit that wall more than once trying to discover your whereabouts. Anyways, I went to Catherine in a vain attempt to talk to her about you. Then she gets an emergency call about her dying mother. Next thing you know I'm at the hospital with her. Her mom assumes I'm her fiancé. This fiancé is someone Catherine fabricated to please her sick mother. Well, next thing you know, it is her dying mother's wish to see her daughter married. To me. That's how it all started." Harm leaned back and stared up at the stars.
"And you felt sorry for the dying mother so you agreed to a made-up wedding. Bud played preacher. Catherine is indebted to you. Then you knew where to find us." Mac filled in the rest of the details.
"Yeah that's essentially it. For all of that, I didn't get many details. They helped to get me in touch with the CIA down here. Which was basically useless. But there was one stroke of good luck. Gunny was watching the CIA office and he contacted me. We went from there."
"Gunny ! You can't imagine how I felt when I saw Gunny today. When I thought he had been killed, I felt like everything had been in vain. That I was responsible for Clay and all that he went through. I had been the one who went back to get Gunny. Clay just followed." Mac's shoulder's drooped. Harm watched as she aimlessly threw bits of leaves into the fire.
Harm thought about his next question. He knew that its answer would drag her through memories best forgotten. But he had to know. He had to know what happened to Clay and Mac. Most important of all - what happened between Clay and Mac. Harm closed his eyes briefly and thought about the kiss he had witnessed earlier. The last time he had felt this sense of panic, Mic Brumby was engaged to Mac. But this was worse. Harm had always seen Mic as the hapless Australian who was never quite good enough for Mac. But Harm counted Clay as a close friend. He knew the man was smart and capable. And dangerous. Mac around this man and his perilous profession would only drive him crazy. From the moment he had witnessed that kiss, he knew that his relationship with Clayton Webb had changed. Webb was now a rival. Had his relationship with Mac changed too?
Who I am kidding? Even Admiral Chegwidden knew it. Why are you risking your life to save Mac when you won't risk your heart to be with her? There was no relationship with Mac outside of friendship. Harm was too timid to cross the boundary between friendship and love.
He started. "Mac, I shouldn't ask you this but what happened in the compound? What did they do to Clay? I saw the two missionaries executed. You were being escorted to that hut.... Why were they taking you there?"
Mac hunched forward and hugged her knees. She stared at the flickering flames. She swallowed hard. "Clay had been posing as an arms dealer with a pregnant wife. I think he made up the pregnant part of the story in an effort to protect me. He rationalized that their traditional values would mean that they wouldn't hurt a pregnant woman. But Carla Robinson, the missionary's wife had figured out that I was a fake. She was desperate to please Saddiq. She knew that their church would be unable to pay the ransom. Saddiq was brutal and they knew he would kill them. She used the information about my false pregnancy in an effort to please him. It didn't work, of course. You saw that in the compound."
"What Saddiq couldn't figure out was who Clay and I really were. He saw us as Israelis. He couldn't see why we tried to rescue Gunny. That made no sense to him. And truly, it was hard to explain away. You saw that torture chamber? Well, Clay spent the better part of a day having the electrodes attached to that battery applied to him. They broke him, Harm. I could hear his screams across the compound. He took punishment intended for me. But he never wavered from his story about being an independent arms dealer. They were going to do the same to me, in an effort to get Clay to talk."
"I am okay right now because Clay delayed them from getting to me and because you and Gunny rescued us." Mac's eyes were closed. She could still seeing the glowing electrodes.
Harm to himself silently went on. And if I ever have regrets about my decision to quit the Navy, I will remember how you looked strapped to that table and I will know I did the right thing. No matter what happens between you and Clay. He felt his chest tighten.
Mac whispered. "I wonder if Clay is still alive."
"Yeah, me too," said Harm. He stood up and looked around. Mac needed sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough. How possibly could he make her more comfortable? He spied the discarded pregnancy suit. At least she could have a pillow.
"Here," he said. "Something for your head. We should both get some sleep." He stoked the fire with a few pieces of deadfall.
Mac curled up with the pregnancy suit. She watched as Harm cleaned up the remnants of their bag lunch. He lay down on the ground a few feet away from her, his expression unreadable.
But Mac was still pretty perceptive, despite her exhaustion. After all, he had been her partner, on and off for almost seven years. She didn't need to read his expression to know what he was thinking.
"Harm?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"You want me to call room service and ask them to bring up a room divider?"
Harm turned to look at her. She was smiling.
Mac continued, "We could share body heat. It is almost winter you know. Some parts of this country go below freezing in July. Somebody said that it's better than sleeping with the scorpions."
Harm stared for moment. "There are no scorpions in Paraguay. Anacondas and Boa Constrictors, maybe. But no scorpions."
Before she could answer, he crept over to her. He laid his head on the edge of the tattered pregnancy suit and turned his face to look into hers. He swung his long leg over hers as he wrapped his arms around her. He sighed contently as he closed his eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked, praying silently.
"I'm sure," she said. And she snuggled up against his broad chest.